CRUSHed Glass I: To the Empire
by MissMelysse
Summary: Inspired by, but not beholden to, THE MIRROR BROKEN (IDW, 2017). The 1st of 3 separate one-shots exploring 3 different versions of the Mirror Crushverse. Data/OC (Zoe Harris) Data/Tasha (implied) *character death* Lt. Zoe Harris and Lt. Tasha Yar have never really gotten along, and when you're an officer in the Imperial Starfleet, advancement by murder is expected… isn't it?


**About this piece:** Inspired by, but not beholden to, the recently begun Mirror TNG series _The Mirror Broken_ (IDW, 2017), this is one version of what the mirror CRUSHverse might look like. In this one-shot, Zoe is 21, a recently promoted lieutenant, j.g. in the Imperial Starfleet, and she and Data have an established relationship. Please do not attempt to fit this into the primary CrushVerse. It's a completely different world.

* * *

 **To the Empire**

 _ **I.S.S. Enterprise**_

 **Stardate 49361.80**

 **(Friday, 12 May 2372, 10:03 hours, ship's time)**

"To the Empire!" Our captain ended the daily meeting of his senior officers with the customary expression of loyalty, and dutifully we all - the five of us – repeated it back to him, the response as automatic as the phrases we parroted back to the priest every Sunday in church when I was a kid.

But Captain Picard was no priest, and the _Enterprise_ wasn't anything close to a church unless, maybe, she was an altar where we worshipped Our Lady of Death and Destruction.

"Dismissed."

None of us needed to be told twice. Before I exited the room, I caught the eye of the acting first officer, who was really the second officer, and he answered me with a barely perceptible nod that I understood to mean _wait for me._ I held his gaze for a moment, my brown eyes locked with his yellow ones. If anyone thought our silent communion was remotely odd, they'd chalk it up to the personal aspect of our relationship.

After all, it was common knowledge that Lt. Harris – that's me – and Lt. Commander Data had been sharing a home and a bed for over a year.

Actually, it'd been a lot longer than that. Our first hook-up had been when I was sixteen, fast-tracked into the Academy because I had good grades and a reputation for understanding the political nuances of almost any situation. (You grow up with a celebrity playboy for a father and the youngest admiral in the 'fleet for a mother, and you'd be good at 'understanding nuances,' too.) Data had been teaching a class on battle tactics while his ship, the _Trieste_ , was in Spacedock for repairs, and when I'd asked for clarification about a point, he'd invited me to lunch, and we'd hit it off.

He was something of a celebrity himself – The Imperial Starfleet's only sentient android - typically referred to in a tone that made him seem like a sideshow freak and not one of the most brilliant officers ever to graduate from the Academy. He was the only person ever to successfully counter the Picard Maneuver, after all.

But maybe there was something else that had drawn us together. Maybe our kinship had more to do with the fact that we were both somewhat isolated from those who should have been our peers. He was an effectively immortal machine with the soul of a man, after all, and I was a trust-fund baby two years younger than the rest of her class.

All I know is that there came a point when our evening 'tutorials' had moved from the library or one of the mess halls to his quarters – I had a roommate - and he'd finally let me convince him that I could use 'tutoring' in more intimate subjects.

Neither of us had been terribly experienced, though he had programming to fall back on, but together we taught each other what we liked, what we didn't, and where our limits were.

When Data returned to space at the end of the semester, I felt the loss of his friendship, yes, and I missed the thrill that had come from sparring with such a keen intellect, but I found that I'd been spoiled for other partners. Male, female or other, no one else ever managed to satisfy me so completely.

Three-and-a-half years later, as a newly-minted ensign billeted to the _Enterprise_ , I was certain my android lover had been instrumental in my assignment to the most illustrious ship in the Imperial Fleet.

A year after that, I'd been promoted to lieutenant, j.g., and been assigned the role of 'political officer,' which made me a very visible target. Data's protection was a blessing, of course, but I'd managed to cultivate my own alliances. Geordi, the blind engineer who kept the ship going even in the midst of heated battle, was a mutual friend despite his open lust for my partner, and Worf, the Klingon slave who served as quartermaster, had taught me more about self-defense than the PT coaches at the Academy had managed to impart in my entire four years.

The conference room we'd all exited was at the end of a short corridor that opened onto one of the main arteries through Deck One – the bridge level of the ship. The austerity measures that were part and parcel of a war that didn't seem likely to ever cease meant that the lights were dimmed and shadows loomed, even at the height of alpha watch – the day shift.

Except they weren't always just shadows.

The doctor and chief engineer had already disappeared into a turbolift down the corridor to the left, and Data had lagged behind to speak privately with the captain, but I hadn't seen the security chief, Tasha Yar, head aft to the lift-bank, or forward to enter the bridge.

I stopped short, tilted my head slightly, and detected a slight intake of breath behind me. "I can hear you," I said to the woman I knew was tailing me.

"So, now instead of just fucking the android, you're acquiring his skills." It wasn't a question.

I turned around, keeping my expression neutral as I swept back the hair on the right side of my head. "Not his skills, just a little android-inspired enhancement. Like it?"

Wisely, she chose not to answer.

I remained still, taking stock of the other woman. Lt. Yar had earned her position as security chief by displaying the sort of bloodthirsty ruthlessness that had once been the common method of advancement within the 'fleet, but was rapidly losing favor. Starfleet, it seemed, was tired of losing good people to casual murder. It wasn't cost-effective.

She was a skilled shooter, I knew, and a decent brawler. She also had five centimeters, and ten kilograms on me. Then again, Yar was also older than me by about a decade, which meant in a fair fight, we were evenly matched.

Not that either of us would ever consider fighting fair.

I considered what else I knew about the blonde woman frozen with me in the darkened corridor, which was precious little. Rumor had it that she was a frequent occupant of the captain's bed, though not so frequent that he let her live with him. Rumor also had it that she'd fucked as many of her former superior officers as she'd killed in order to achieve – and then maintain – her position.

Still, we'd always had a decent working relationship. Well, decent in the sense that we had a tacit agreement to stay out of each other's way.

"I had him first, you know," she said.

I rolled my eyes at her. I knew all about the one-night-stand she'd had with my partner. She'd called him to her quarters for an undefined emergency, and Data had found her drunk and half-naked, waiting to pounce. He'd allowed her to seduce him, then slipped her a combination sedative and hangover remedy, and left her, naked and alone on the floor of her quarters.

They'd never spoken of it since, in public, anyway, but he'd felt the need to apologize to me since it had happened after our Academy fling.

"Really, Tasha, jealousy?" I asked, making my voice ooze sweetness. "It _really_ doesn't become you. What's the trouble? The old man can't keep it up long enough to satisfy your… needs?"

In retrospect, I should have expected her to strike. We were alone in the corridor and no one was likely to come by and attempt a rescue. No one was that stupid.

The heel of her hand banged into my throat with enough force to knock the breath out of me, and make my eyesight fade out. When I was fully conscious again, she'd taken me to my knees and had a phaser pointed at my head.

"I can't wait to put you in my booth, Zoe," Tasha threatened. "The pain will render you unconscious before the tremors and shattering bones really begin."

Ah, the agony booth. I knew it was Yar's preferred method of discipline. She took the kind of pleasure in the slow torture of the booth that could never be found in the clean and almost merciful death caused by a phaser. She might point the thing at me, but she was unlikely to use it, and _I_ used that information to my advantage, lunging forward between her legs. It wasn't enough to drop her to the deck, but she had to give up the bead she had on me in order to keep her balance.

I managed to get to my feet, and my Academy training, Worf's coaching, and raw instinct took over. I swung my left hand first, but failed to knock the phaser from her hand, and then my right fist made contact with her nose.

I heard the satisfying _crunch_ of breaking bone. I saw the phaser skitter across the deck and lodge itself in the corner.

I felt the stickiness of her blood on my right fist.

"You, _bitch_!"

"Really? That's the best you can come up with?"

Yar's fist swung toward my face, and missed.

"Your aim's kind of off," I taunted. "It's because you're not behaving like the cool officer you typically are. It's because you're pissed."

"What?"

"You're _pissed_ ," I repeated to the blonde woman whose nose was bleeding down the front of her gold uniform. I'd have to tell Worf about my successful landing of a right hook.

"Am I?" She looked ready to swing at me again. Had to give her credit for false bravado, I guess.

"You are," I said. I side-stepped another of her flailing punches, but she clipped the side of my jaw anyway. Still, I continued. "You're pissed because I'm a decade younger than you, and because even though you warm his bed, the captain trusts my recommendations over yours. I made a show of cracking my knuckles as if I were planning another punch, and then I favored her with an evil grin. "You hate that I came here after you, and have more people in my corner. But what you _really_ hate is that Data chose me."

I didn't punch her again. Instead I pushed her, feeling a sick satisfaction when her head _cracked_ against the deck. I ran forward, pausing next to the security chief's prone form. Just like every action vid I'd ever seen, I placed my booted foot on her chest. A specific motion of my heel, and a blade sprang out of the duranium toe-tip, cutting into the other woman's neck.

Blood spurted everywhere, but I didn't care. I'd ended the reign of a woman who abused power beyond the accepted level of corruption within the Imperial Fleet. "Don't worry," I said to her in my most soothing voice. "The poison on the blade will render you unconscious before dissolution of your flesh really kicks in."

As if they'd been monitoring me from within the conference room, Captain Picard and Data arrived in the corridor just as Lt. Yar's last breath was burbling out of her.

"Are you uninjured, Zoe?" Data asked, while the captain surveyed the tattered remains of his lover. "You are covered in blood."

"I'm fine," I said. "The blood is hers." I stepped away from the body, and let the blade retract into the hidden sheath in my vote.

The captain turned to face me. "Lt. Harris, as much as I hate to admit it, you've done a service to the Empire today. Lt. Yar has been out of control for several months now. Commander Data, call sickbay to remove the body and have a cleanup crew deployed to this corridor, then escort Ms. Harris to quarters, where she will remain until further notice."

"I assume confining Lt. Harris to quarters is a safety measure, sir?"

"Quite so, Data." The captain took a beat then added, "We'll need a new security chief. Who's next in line?"

"Begging your pardon, sir," I interrupted, "but the next three likely successors to Lt. Yar's position were all loyal to her first, and you and the Empire second. Perhaps new blood would be wiser."

"Are you volunteering?" His tone was cold and flat, daring me to answer in the affirmative, just so he could quickly and elegantly wipe the deck with me.

"No, sir. Merely making a suggestion. Worf, the quartermaster, has a wife and son on the Klingon homeworld. He's got excellent tactical skills and has forgotten more about hand-to-hand combat than most of us are ever taught. He may be willing to swear fealty to you, and to the Empire, in exchange for the safe arrival of his family." I paused. "His wife is half Bajoran, sir. The Klingon-Cardassian Alliance has no love for half-breeds."

"Hmm. You make an excellent point, Lieutenant. Mr. Data?"

"It is an intriguing idea sir, and we know that Worf is free of conflicting alliances. Perhaps you should interview him, sir?"

"Make it so."

 **(=A=)**

 **Stardate 49362.96**

 **(Friday, 12 May 2372, 20:17 hours, ship's time)**

One of the perks of having a line officer as your lover is sharing the relative luxury of larger quarters. The ships of the Imperial Starfleet may have long-since forsaken scientific exploration for conquest, but those who demonstrated competence and loyalty were well-rewarded.

And Lt. Commander Data was both incredibly competent and extremely loyal.

After all, his maker had programmed him that way.

Until I'd moved in, he'd never used the soaking tub in his bathroom, and had even considered having it removed and the space reallocated to a second personal computer station. The acquisition of an all-too-human partner had changed that plan, but he never seemed to mind. In fact, I think he was pleased that I derived pleasure from the tub's use.

I had taken a shower to wash away all of Yar's blood, and my own sweat, but a long soak was what I really needed, and I was still partly submerged in hot, soapy water when the doors to our quarters opened to admit him.

"You're late," I observed as his shadow fell across me. I didn't ask if everything was alright. I knew better I did turn my head to note that his uniform was unmarred, and his golden skin unetched by knife marks. So, none of the security officers loyal to Tasha had jumped him on the way home, at least.

"And you are reminiscent of the naiads of mythology." Data was using his 'seductive' voice – the one that was softer and smoother than his typical tone.

"Over-saturated and reeking of fish?" In a world where people were often subjected to a session in the agony booth for speaking out of turn, snark was risky behavior. Fortunately, Data found my quips and sarcasm both endearing and educational.

"On the contrary. Your skin glistens when it is wet. It is most… enticing."

He crouched next to the tub, and, using two of the long, elegant fingers of his right hand, plucked at one of my nipples until it hardened into a stiff peak, then repeated the action on the other nipple. His left hand, he flattened against the lower part of my belly underneath the surface of the water, then slid down between my legs until his thumb rested just where I liked it most: a fraction above my clitoris with his fingers positioned to delve into the hottest, wettest part of my sex.

"So good…" I moaned, as his cool fingers began their relentless invasion. "God, Data…"

I was just on the edge of climax when he moved his hand from my breast to my throat and pushed my head under the water.

Data was as ruthless a lover as he was a battle tactician, and as an android he never needed a break, never got to any kind of saturation point. Ever the researcher, he was also incredibly well-informed about how the human body in general, and mine in particular, responded to stimulus.

Study and time had taught him where enjoyment crossed into mere tolerance, but he'd also learned exactly how far he could push me, until we bumped right up against those limits. His heightened senses could discern exactly when I was in danger of becoming unconscious or at risk of drowning, and he always pulled me back in time.

My vision was just beginning to fade out when he yanked me from the water and wrapped me in a thick towel, his movements and manner morphing from treacherous to tender in the space of a breath.

Or several breaths. I was still gulping for air when he'd finished rubbing most of the water from my skin.

I felt his yellow-eyed gaze analyzing my physiological responses. "Do you wish to discontinue this tonight, and go to sleep?" Data asked, his voice full of concern.

"No."

"What do you want, Zoe?"

"More…"

"More what?"

"More of you. I want you."

"Then you shall have me."

Strong arms lifted my towel-clad body and carried me to the bed, where he unwrapped me as if I were a treasured gift. In complete opposition to his actions in the bathroom, Data captured my mouth in a gentle kiss, coaxing my response with infinite skill, while his hands traced delicate patterns on my bare skin.

By the time he entered me with something _other_ than his fingers or tongue I was practically writhing with need and want, and when I finally reached orgasm, my own satisfied scream echoed in my ears.

Later, when I was sated and Data was willing to give me a much-needed respite, we adjourned to the main room of our living quarters for a shared meal of eggplant parmesan and glasses of a pretty decent pinot noir. It was only after we'd finished the entrée and had relocated to the couch with our refilled wine glasses that my partner spoke to me in a voice that blended personal concern and professional practicality.

"You should not have taken down Lt. Yar without my assistance."

"She started it," I objected. "And I think I managed her just fine, though without the implant you gave me, she would have succeeded in…"

"Killing you? Perhaps." He smoothed my hair away from my ear, and caressed first the flesh, then the cybernetic implant that enhanced my hearing. I'd been extremely clear before he'd installed it for me: I had no wish to become a true cyborg, but a few technological improvements might be acceptable. "Or perhaps not."

"How much trouble am I in?" I asked.

"From the captain? None. In fact, he has recommended you for a medal of honor in recognition of your service to the Empire." His hand found my stomach and he dipped a finger into my navel, tweaking the piercing I had there. "He also agreed to give Worf a chance at security chief."

"You influenced him in both cases, no doubt?"

"I simply ensured that the captain understood which course of action would be most beneficial to himself, the ship, the fleet, and the Empire."

I made the only response I could, considering that the living quarters of ranking officers were often bugged. I lifted my glass and toasted, "To us," I said. "And to the Empire."

Data echoed my words, and touched his glass to mine to seal the moment.


End file.
